


On a Man's TRUE Name Day - Part Two

by SanSanFanFan



Series: The On A.... Day SanSan Smut Series [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a Man's TRUE Name Day - Part Two: Sansa and Margaery prepare for the feast for Sandor's ACTUAL name day... but what does Joffrey have in store for the Hound?</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Man's TRUE Name Day - Part Two

“A whore…? You’re sure. It’s just a whore?”

The dressmaker tutted slightly as he bumbled about her pinning sections of the drafting cloth around her. Sansa ignored the powdered man and tried to twist back, away from the mirror to look at where Margaery lounged in her shift on the bed.

“Joffrey was crowing about it over dinner. He thinks it’s been months since his dog had a tumble and he’s bought him one to entertain him. She’s to escort him the whole evening and serve his every whim.” She sighed and rolled onto her back, completely ignoring the man who was preparing the rough version of Sansa’s new dress. “I am terribly disappointed in him. I did expect something a little more… scandalous. Although, her Grace’s face will be a picture. Even King Robert never brought whores into the great hall…” 

Sansa turned back to the long mirror in front of her, covering her thoughts with the pretence of considering the dress that was forming around her. A whore… well, Margaery was right, it could have been far worse. Joffrey could be very creative in his sadism and she’d feared for the Hound since her last encounter with the King and the large warrior in the flower gardens. But a whore… yes, it upset her to think of him doing the things that he did to her to another. In fact, it made a cold fire sit in her belly and twist her insides. But there were things that they didn’t do in the dark corridors of the keep that he might still want. She steeled herself to the knowledge that he was going to lie with another, and looked for real at the plain linen dress the fat man was making her.

“Is it not… a little low at the front?”

Margaery groaned and rose from the bed. She pushed the man aside and ran hands over the dress, marking how it fell over Sansa’s hip and gently touching the edges of the cloth where it crossed over her breasts. Hairs raised on her skin at the brunette Tyrell’s attentions.

“You have good teats Sansa, why not show the lords of court what they can’t touch…?”

“Margaery!” 

“Oh they all want you, sweetling. I have no doubt that many of them take themselves in hand night after night after the briefest of meetings with you.”

Margaery smiled and leant closer, Sansa’s red hair forming a curtain around the girl’s face as she looked down at her with questioning eyes.

“Are you sure that there are none that make you do the same?” Margaery smirked and darted up to place a quick kiss on Sansa’s lips. She blushed furiously, but played with her hair to tidy it and to cover up her embarrassment as the Tyrell girl rolled back onto the bed, not caring that she flashed her small clothes as she did.

“Margaery! We are not alone!”

“Oh don’t worry about Bressel. He makes dresses for all the finest ladies of court and he knows all our secrets. His career would be over if he ever blabbed.” She looked at the flouncing man with a wicked smile. “His career… or his life.”

“Yes my lady… and Lady Sansa, what material do you like?” He held up an array of rich purple and blue silks and satin. Sansa paused and then spoke confidently.

“Show me some yellows.”

***

Sansa fidgeted in her new dress. Margaery had assured her that it suited her well, and that for the hundredth time, no, it was not too low at the front! But Margaery was seated up on one the higher tables while Sansa was down near the entrance to the kitchens, and without the vivacious brunette by her side she felt a wave of uncertainty threaten to crush her. She had had several compliments it was true. Lord Baelish had for example made many comments about the modern style and the elegance of the bright yellow dress. And of how pleasing it was that she had chosen a new colour to wear after so many purples and blues. But after a while his attentions had been a little too much, and she’d begged leave to find her seat. 

It was there that Joffrey found her. She was sat between two very minor, but very large, ladies of court, and was slightly squashed there as the two of them gossiped about this lord and this lady. When the king arrived both stood so quickly that Sansa was almost raised up with them.

“Oh no, oh no, this will not do! This will not do at all!” Joffrey frowned, ignoring all their curtsies. “Who placed you down here Lady Sansa? Please, do take my hand, there will be a seat made for you up by me.” 

Sansa could not refuse, so she took his offered arm and walked up the long aisle between tables towards the high table where Margaery sat amongst the highest nobles of court. All eyes turned to watch the traitor’s daughter paraded by the king who had broken their engagement. Sansa turned slowly red.

“Later, when there is the dancing, I wish to claim you.” Joffrey spoke low, “Do remember that.”

He placed her in a seat not far from Margaery and took his place at her side. Sansa noted the absence of the Queen. Perhaps Joffrey had known what her response to his gift was like to be.

“Now! Where is the Hound? What is a name day feast without the main guest?!” He shouted and across the hall came back a smattering of polite laughter.

The main doors opened and Sandor walked in, escorted by his lady for the evening.

Sansa was so taken with him that for a moment she did not notice the woman on his arm. He looked immensely uncomfortable, dressed in soft calfskin breeches and a plain, clean, white tunic. A darker overcoat left open lay over that, as though he had refused to button it up, as was the style. He even had a dagger at his waist, something that was never allowed at feasts. Sansa felt a heat creep up from her chest to her neck and face as she took in his clean, brushed hair and his shaved face. The dog had certainly made an effort in his grooming for this evening. Then the gasps started.

Sansa came back to herself as the gasps turned to laughter. She looked quickly to the woman on his arm. She was a wanton creature, the front of her dress pulled part open to expose almost the complete fullness of her breasts and dipping low to show much of her belly. But for Sansa that was not what immediately caught the eye. It was how bright she looked. In her yellow dress, and with her so very red hair.

Sansa struggled to stay seated. If she ran she would be laughed out of the hall. But as Sandor brought the sauntering whore up to the king’s table her eyes filled with ready tears. He looked so miserable, barely contained rage behind his eyes as he presented the ‘Lady Linarri’ to the King. Joffery held in laughter as he bowed at the whore and she attempted a curtsey that sent her teats swinging out the dress that was twin to Sansa’s own.

Did he know? Was this why he had dressed her as Sansa? She started to panic. If he knew then their lives were forfeit. Who was the target of this joke? At first she had thought he meant to shame his Hound, but maybe it was just for her. To Joffrey, implying that the Hound wanted her would be shaming to the Lady Sansa… if that was not what she secretly wanted in truth.

She had to keep her head and see how this played out to find out what he knew. She dug her nails into her hands and kept her quiet.

***

The evening had been torture. Sansa had been forced to watch as Sandor had sat with his ‘lady’ and suffered her presence. He had been as still as a statue as she had tried to cavort with him. When that had failed Linarri had turned her attentions to another man to her other side. She was loud and crass and constantly ‘accidentally’ showing her breasts. She even swore more than he did.

Margaery had managed a few moments away from Joffrey to check on her, but Sansa had laughed off the suggestion that the dress and the red hair had embarrassed her. Margaery was planning the dressmaker’s funeral, but Sansa could not let Joffrey see how it had upset her. She merely smiled and said that it was good to know that she was at last fashionable.

But then Joffrey had stood, swaying slightly, and commanded the musicians on the balcony to play. Sansa would rather have danced barefoot on glass than dance in that hall that night, but after Joffrey had danced with Margaery, he came for her.

As they moved through the intricate steps with the other lords and ladies, Sansa caught glimpses of Sandor being shoved by Linarri who also seemed to want to dance. He did not.

Joffrey had picked her for a dance that required far more physical contact than she was happy with. At one point he had to stand close behind her, and she felt his hot breath on her neck as he whispered in her ears.

“Did you see her? Did you see the whore? I made her dress like you, and she’s still prettier. The Hound’s going to fuck her tonight, and everyone will think about him fucking you.”

Sansa’s body reacted to that thought even if her skin was crawling at the closeness of Joffrey. The dance took him away from her for a blessed moment, but it brought him back again of course.

“He’ll mount her from behind like the dog he is… and tomorrow all they’ll talk about is him doing it to you.”

Again, the vicious whisperer was gone. Then back again.

“Maybe I’ll come to your chambers later and show you how he did it.” He was pressed against her, and suddenly she felt something pointed and small pushing against her. She felt physically sick.

And then the Hound was there. 

It was suicidal but he’d come over to where the king was dancing with her, and stood stock still next to them. Joffrey turned a strange shade of purple.

“What do you think you are doing?!” 

“My fucking lady’s sick.” They all looked back to where Linarri was strewn across a wooden bench, unconscious.

“So?!” Joffrey spluttered. “Take her back to your chambers and have your way with her anyway!”

The Hound nodded. Then quickly he looked right at Sansa. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, but he quelled before Joffrey could note it.

“She looks just like the fucking Stark girl.”

Joffrey laughed his high nasal laugh, laughing at his own cleverness. 

“Wine, more wine!” Joffrey called out imperiously as Sandor walked back to the whore and threw her over his shoulder. Joffrey staggered off with a goblet in his hand, Sansa forgotten for the moment.

She stood in a daze. Joffrey didn’t know. He’d just sought to shame her, because… because that’s what he did. But what had the Hound meant by pointing out the obvious like that? Then it struck her and she knew exactly what he had meant. All she had to do was escape the hall without being noticed…

***

She found him quickly enough, he hadn’t gone far, and Linarri was still thrown over his shoulder. He paused as she reached him, slowing from her quick run to stand in front of him, looking up at those dark eyes and hoping to see the mischievousness again. He seemed to be waiting for something…

“Oh!” She remembered suddenly. “Come here, dog.” 

He smiled and turned back to the way he’d been heading with the unconscious whore.

“Suits you better.”

She looked puzzled as he looked down at her again.

“The dress. Suits you better.” 

Sansa smiled, but she wrung her hands together. What he planned was very risky…

“Seems we’re both wearing yellow this night.” He held up a hand and the cuff of his tunic fell down. And there, tied tightly around his forearm was the yellow ribbon. Sansa gasped, and reddened as he chuckled darkly. But the fear seemed to drift away.

He turned through one archway and kicked open a wooden door with one large boot. Inside was a small storeroom full of flour sacks. He deposited Linarri there and arranged her almost gently. Sansa was pleased, it really wasn’t her fault that Joffrey was a… was a… she didn’t have the right curse words to do him justice.

Then, so quickly it almost scared her, he grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder. She had to smother the giggles that burst from her mouth.

“Come on girl, you’re meant to have passed out!” She let herself go entirely limp and enjoy the feeling of being carried by this massive, muscular man, her hair swaying back and forth over his back.

Of course, there was only one place that they could be headed. After all, hadn’t King Joffrey ordered it?

***

His room was small and plain. Tidier than she’d expected really, the bed made with sharp corners, and the floor recently swept. She hadn’t however expected the small collection of oddities on his dresser top. Curiously shaped stones, petals, feathers… she let her hand drift over them as she kept herself turned away from him. Being here in his room, rather than running into him in the corridors of the keep felt so different and she felt unsure around him.

He was watching her, standing next to the bed but not moving towards her. 

“Where are these from?” 

“Here and there.” He moved behind her and she wondered if he was going to move closer, but he didn’t. “They remind me of days.”

“Good days?”

“Most of them, aye.” She heard the creak of the bed as he sat down. “Girl, you called the dog. We made it past watching eyes because you looked… because the whore looked like you. Aren’t you going to look at me?” 

She turned slowly, the blush creeping up her chest again.

He breathed out. “That dress is dangerous.”

“It’s too low isn’t it?! Margaery said it wasn’t but…”

“It ain’t low enough.” His voice was deep and dangerous.

She lifted her hands to the edges of it, almost unconsciously. Then she drew the edges of the crossed material apart. Unlike Linarri she wore a slight shift underneath, but one cut low and with thin straps. The yellow overdress fell over her arms and down to her hips, exposing the shift and her breasts beneath it. She stood like that for a moment, fighting the urge to cover herself.

“Today… today is your name day.”

“Aye. Though can’t say I’ve ever had such a gift before.” He would not look from her, and she felt hot under his gaze.

“And… and what do you want to do with your gift?”

“You ain’t the whore, girl.” 

“No. I’m not Joffrey’s gift. This is my gift to you.” He shuddered at the thought and wiped his hand across his mouth. 

“Push the rest of the dress down.”

She did as she was ordered, and stepped out of the yellow dress, standing there only in the thinnest of shifts.

“What did Joffrey say I’d do to the whore?”

Sansa blushed furiously and stammered the words out. “Mount her… mount her from behind like a dog.”

He laughed darkly. “The boy has no imagination. Someone calls me the Hound, or the dog… and he thinks I have no other tricks…”

“I… I know you do.” He gave her look then that seemed to speak of something like pride.

“Come here, girl.” 

She padded over on bare feet and went to stand in front of him. Slowly, achingly slowly, he moved his hands to her hips and ran them over the curves of her. His thumbs circled her nipples and made shivers shoot down her spine. He pulled one strap and then the other from her shoulders and pushed the shift down, leaving her just in her small clothes. Then he grabbed her… grabbed her by the… then he took hold of her bottom cheeks and pulled her forward to him.

“Sit.”

She reached for his shoulders to steady herself, and then straddled him. Her silk covered crotch was so close to his calfskin covered one that it was the work of a second to slide forward and to grind against him there. He groaned and ran his hands up her back to her hair before taking a nipple in his mouth. The feelings starting in her… cunt… were so divine she had to arch backwards and let her mouth hang open. That took her nipple from him, and he greedily pulled her back, burying his face against her breast and rubbing the slightest of stubble on his face against the pale skin over her ribs.

“I could… I could put you on your knees and mount you like the dog. Would you want that?” He drew harsh breaths as he pulled away from her and spoke.

She groaned then at the thought of it, but not really knowing how it would feel. 

“I can’t… I can’t…”

“No. You’re right. We can’t.” He stopped touching her then and she groaned in disappointment. Then quickly, as though she weighed nothing more than the feather on his dresser, he lifted her and set her on the bed. “On your knees." 

She complied, but looked back at him with concern, feeling so very exposed even with the smallclothes in his way. He moved quickly and knelt behind her, slowly undoing the laces of his breeches. 

“Do you trust me, girl?”

She looked back at him with shining eyes. 

“I came to you. I came to you when you called me.” She breathed out the words and he nodded.

He reached forward and gently took one of her hands and carefully pulled it back to where her small clothes lay over her. “Take them off.”

She worked the silk down, trying hard not to think of how he could now see her… all of her. His breath was ragged behind her and she realised that he had taken himself in his hand.

“Do you… do you know how to touch yourself?”

She whispered a quiet no, and she felt his hand on hers again, this time guiding her hand back and between her legs. His fingers took hers to that core of pleasure he’d found so many times himself already. “Here girl, touch yourself here and find out what you like.” His breathing was laboured, and she risked a look back as she started to touch herself, to see him moving his hand over his… cock as she had done for him before.

The sight thrilled her and she moved her own fingers faster against that part of herself she’d never explored before. It was not long before she felt the climbing tension there, and worked harder to bring herself to her own climax. He was leaning over her, not touching, but working away at his own release as he watched her learn to take herself there. 

“Gods Sansa… gods, you’re so beautiful. Sing… sing!”

She let the moans escape her in way that she hadn’t been able to during their brief encounters in the shadows of the keep. Her body shuddered as it took possession of her. And then she felt him fall almost atop of her, but he reached out with one arm to steady himself on the bed and so as not land his weight on her. He groaned loudly as he released and spilt himself onto the sheets.

She rolled to her back and panted, as he did beside her. For a moment she felt embarrassed at her performance but he leant above her and kissed her soundly, erasing any shame she felt. They rested for a moment, his chest, covered in dark and thrilling hair, heaving as he settled towards sleep.

“Sandor…?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do I go back to my rooms now?”

“Not if I had my way… but you might be right.”

“I’m worried…” She chewed on her lip as he sat up to look at her.

“Why?” His eyes were dark and questing as she paused. “Well, girl?”

“Joffrey said he would come for me and…”

The Hound growled, and the dangerous man she had been so afraid of was there again for a moment.

“The flower girl. I’ll take you to the flower girl... In a moment.” He rolled towards her and cupped a breast, his thumb rubbing over it…


End file.
